


Southern Exposure

by peoriapeoria



Series: Worlds Collide [6]
Category: The Sentinel, due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Crossover, Drama, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-08-05
Updated: 1999-08-05
Packaged: 2018-11-10 16:24:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11130405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peoriapeoria/pseuds/peoriapeoria
Summary: What happens when two from America's most dangerous city visit the weird Windy City? This story is a sequel to All The Queen's Men.





	Southern Exposure

**Author's Note:**

> This story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). I've not strenghtened it but left it largely as Speranza imported it to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. Thanks to each of the archivists that maintained and variously migrated works.

Southern Exposure

Disclaimers: Detective James Ellison, Blair Sandburg, Cascade, WA., Sentinel concept et. al. belong to Pet Fly etc, etc. Constable Benton Fraser, Detective Vecchio and assorted players belong to Paul Haggis and Alliance. Professor MacKinacmakan and other persons belonging to neither show have permitted me to represent them. 

This is a sequel to All the Queen's Men, after the short story of Reflection. 

And of course, comments and constructive criticism are welcome I also have a webpage you can visit for more Sentinel. 

Warning: This is rated R. Primarily for implied acts of graphic violence referred to in the course of police investigations. Contains sexual relationships and innuendo, bars, tobacco, and undoubtedly meals of questionable dietary soundness. 

Further notes: Due to the long time this story has been in progress (since 1997) it does not completely take into account the occurences of fourth season Sentinel. Similarly, this series was started prior to the launch of Due South's third season, Antipodes having been set in the 'missing season'. I wish to think my beta (thanks Charly) and my linguist (big wave). Errors that remain are very tenacious and will be prevented from running for public office.

"I guess I should consider myself lucky that it's finals." 

Jim was still amazed how a grown man, a _professor_ , could pull off petulance. "Chief, you know I'd understand..." 

"Wrong call. Hand me my clothes." Blair was not a morning person and it showed, as he toweled at his hair. "I'm your Guide, you're going to Chicago. Ergo, I'm going to Chicago. However..." 

*Oh, now I'm in for it.* 

"I think there are ways you can make it up to me." The statement was punctuated by him buttoning his jeans. 

"Blair..." 

"I understand it here. I'm willing to accept Seattle is too close. How far away _is_ good enough, Jim?" He shrugged on the rest of his clothes, buttoning hurriedly to avoid the taller man's eyes. He found his hands stilled, and his chin tilted up. 

"You do know that I love you? That I'm lost without you." Jim leaned in for a gentle kiss. "Our lives attract enough mayhem and notoriety as it is. Your "Blessed Protector" is human." *They use you to get to me more than enough as it is.* What they might do if they knew... 

Ellison was careful not to think those thoughts. He gathered Blair around the shoulders with one arm and tucked the long locked head under his chin. 

"Come on, we've got a plane to catch."

* * *

"Detective Vecchio..." 

Ray looked up from the paperwork that had pegged him to his desk through yet another lunch hour. *Not Feds, and I don't recognize them...* "Detectives Ellison and Sandburg?" He gestured them to sit, and shook their hands over the cluttered desk. 

"Actually, it's Professor Sandburg." 

"I thought you two were partners?" Vecchio pointed his hand at the two men, waving it back and forth. 

"He's a consultant with the department. Is there something wrong?" 

"No, I'm just thinking of my Lieutenant's reaction to an anthropologist on the force." The two from Cascade's inquiry was stopped by another visitor to the Bullpen. 

"Here are those references you wanted. And, Ray, return them _directly_ to me. Without eating over them." 

"Professor MacKinacmakan?" 

Jim looked between Blair and the other man; it was like looking at two fun house reflections. *A six foot, red-headed Blair.* With a suit. 

"Yes. You're?" 

"Blair Sandburg. I teach at Rainier, in Washington." 

"Nice to meet you." Turning back to Ray after the handshake, "Remember, straight back to me. Gentlemen." With a wave to Elaine, the professor was gone. 

"Is it a dress code?" Ray lobbed at the other detective. 

Jim flashed a look at his partner, who seemed oblivious to either of the officers. "Who was that?" 

"That's Tracy. Let me see, you're here for the burglary-murder spree, extradition?" Ray dug through the pile of papers on his desk, looking for the correct folder. 

"Our evidence is too shaky; we're here to see if we can resolve the file." 

"Well, this is the report. He's pleaded guilty, so the hearing is this afternoon. I'll be back in a bit." He stood, stretched his arms down and rolled his head, then loped out of the Bullpen. 

"You having your own zone-out?" 

"Sorry, Jim. I just wouldn't have expected to run into him in Chicago." He caught the questioning look in his partner's eyes. "Much less in the station. Wonder what he was dropping off?" *Enough teasing.* "I've never met him, though I've read several of his books." 

"And?" He continued when Blair didn't pick up on the question. "So, is it a dress code? Not that I recall anyone else looking like you." 

"Huh?" 

Jim let it drop when he sensed someone behind him who he hadn't heard walk in. He looked over his shoulder. *A Mountie?* 

"Frasier, this is Detective Ellison and his partner, Blair Sandburg." Ray slipped around the desk and discretely shuffled the portfolio under the files on his desk. "They're in from Cascade about the Welters case." 

"Constable." Ellison shook the proffered hand. 

Blair stood to greet him, perplexed by Fraser's slight double-take. 

"It's uncanny, isn't it?" Directed to the Mountie, the whisper was loud by any standard other than the stage. Ray shifted the materials into his bottom drawer and locked it during the distraction. "Can you deal with these reports while I try to run down a few statements before we head to the courthouse?" 

"Of course."

* * *

Jim had found a place to eat a late lunch while they waited for the hearing. They sat across from each other in the booth. 

"Isn't it a little strange for a Mountie to be doing a detective's paperwork?" Blair stole several fries from Jim's plate. 

"More than a little. What's the story, Chief? The Professor." 

"Don't know what you're talking about." 

"Two detectives and a Mountie can't be wrong. Or is this a secret anthro cult?" 

"You really think we look that much alike? Just because of long hair?" 

"I notice he has both of his ears pierced." 

"The Maori do that. He was raised among them. Did you have to focus for that detail?" 

"No. Come on, he's, what, about my age, and I don't recall anyone else at Rainier, including the visiting lecturers, looking vaguely like either of you. How do you know that?" 

"You, all of you, are imagining things. Really. What do you think dust covers are for?"

* * *

"We have a problem." Jim led Blair down a corridor. 

"What is it? I mean, he confessed, he described our cases, and it's the same M.O." 

"But it's not the same person. Remember I was able to smell the scent at the last crime scene?" 

"Then how?" 

"More importantly, he thought he was telling the truth about the ones in Cascade." 

"Are you sure? I mean, that it couldn't be the same guy. It's not like he'd have the same toiletries or anything in lock-up." 

"I don't know. But that was the best piece of evidence we had. Here, he was much more sloppy. Something's not right." 

"You two get what you need to head out of the Windy City?" Vecchio came up at a jog, with Fraser walking behind. Dief was trailing, hunting junkfood. 

"Something doesn't smell right." 

"That sounds like half the cases Benny and I've had. Sewers, garbage dumps, roll-offs." Ray gesticulated between the two men. "How did you pass this by your lieutenant?" 

"Captain Banks came around gradually. How many times did you keep me out of the morgue, Chief?" 

"I think I lost count. How did you two get teamed up?" 

"Much to the dismay of Welsh. Eventually, he decided a free Frasier was worth paying for me." 

"Ray, I hardly think that is the case. You handled Carver and worked out the train, just to give two examples." Dief caught up after a last swipe of his tongue, leaving a silver trail of vending bags in the center of the hall.

* * *

"How's the pool shaping up for tonight?" Tracy was leaning against Elaine's desk, bent over close. 

"I can't tell you; pretty good. I can't believe you found out and don't mind." 

"I'd have set it up myself, if I didn't think I'd be charged with racketeering. I've never been on a betting sheet before; my mates would die of envy. Oh, here they come now." Tracy pulled up to full height, straightening rumples out of the jacket. 

"And I thought Cascade was supposed to be so safe." Ray and the other three followed after his words. "Tracy, this is Detective Ellison and his partner. I thought they might as well come to dinner." 

Tracy greeted the newly introduced detective. "As a scholar and a scoundrel I must warn you gentlemen of the grave danger you may be in." 

Blair quick-taked through anxiety and then suspicion of a punch-line. 

"Dining with these two inevitably leads back to the station. I think there's a standing travelers' advisory. What do we feel like tonight? No Chinese, pizza, or Italian." 

"You've cut most everything out." Ray objected. 

"We could go to the 'Horn of Africa'." 

"Not until they get some furniture." 

Blair chortled just loud enough that Jim could hear it. 

"Trying to pick somewhere out of the rut but not too far off the track?" Jim recalled this struggle, when Blair tried to 'widen' his culinary range. *Find every weird place in town, more like it.* 

"Is there a good Indian place?" Blair rocked on the balls of his feet. 

"Several. Is that fine with everyone?" Fraser saw they had reached a consensus.

* * *

"Detective, you'd better ride with me. Sandburg won't mind studying those two? Right now I've got too much stuff in the back seat." Tracy slid into the driver's seat and unlocked the passenger door. 

"Nah, he lives for that. He started out as a police observer." Jim buckled in. "Do you work for the precinct?" 

"Welsh would have a heart attack. He's only recently figured out how to explain the Constable."

* * *

"Do you have enough room back there?" Fraser asked politely. 

"I'm fine. How do you two know Professor MacKinacmakan?" 

"The usual. He had a touring exhibit, we were security, there was an expense account and it was all very cross-cultural." Ray punched through a changing yellow light and turned right on red during the exchange. 

"Beer." 

"Exactly. Since then, well, sometimes Tracy gives us a little insight. How'd you get in the cop business?" 

"Wrong place, right time. Jim nearly got hit by a garbage truck." 

"Remind me to put that on my list of 'Ways _Not_ to Go.'"

* * *

"Okay, did we get at least one of every major category of injury?" Tracy reached over for more dahl. 

"I think we must have. Stabbing, shooting, fractures, concussion, contusion, bruising and abrading, powder burn, temporary blindness, smoke inhalation, drowing, hypothermia, steaming, and that stinging you get in your fist." 

"Forgot the otter." Ray was rather amused at the exchange between the two professors. They kept up a running commentary as they explored the war stories being recounted over dinner. 

"Otter?" Jim thought he must have misheard. 

"It's really not worth mentioning." Fraser was dabbing the corners of his mouth with his napkin. 

"Elaine wouldn't agree." Ray looked back at the Canadian. 

"Out with the story." *What does Elaine have to do with it?* It was a childhood 'accident', though carried out by a bully with malicious intent. Tracy had heard the story, but apparently not _all_ of it. 

"Benny here got struck with an otter once. Strange scar; Elaine got the truth out of him binding his ribs one day." 

"That wasn't police work. We left out drugged. A maniacal genius Ray had put away spiked some mud." Tracy claimed the last chappas. 

"What...?" 

"Benny tracks even by taste. Carver knew it and used it against him." 

Blair looked over at Jim, who caught the glance but didn't respond. 

"Didn't he once locate someone by rat breath?" The professor lobbed that out before taking another bite. 

"Yeah, Welsh didn't like the expense report on that case at all. Not knowing all the rib joints, Frasier had to sample in order to match the sauce with the rats released in the strip club." 

"That's a very interesting technique. Have you ever had to base a warrant off something like that?" Blair just had to know if they'd ever gotten away with that. It certainly beat some of their cover-up stories, at least in originality. Believability... 

"We were going to try. I believe the closest was getting someone out of arraignment as the sounds of gunfire were wrong." 

"Prosecutor still thinks I was humoring him." Ray nodded in reference to his partner. 

"What about the rats in the strip club?" Jim couldn't wait to hear this.

* * *

They had finished up dinner and were waiting on the check when the call came on Vecchio's cell phone. Next thing they knew, Ray and Fraser had dashed out, Ray pulling his car keys out of his pocket as he plunged through the door. 

Jim whispered what he'd overheard to Blair while an annoyed Tracy went to handle the bill. He was about to suggest they follow when the professor waved them over and dashed outside. 

"Blair, just push those to one side. Damn it, which way did they go?" 

"Go straight until the third light." Ellison focused his hearing with his sight to pick up the sound of the Riv while it was still in view. *An old V-8, nothing quite like it.* 

"Can you spot them again? He must have the light on now." 

"Turn right. They're in the middle lane." 

"Way he drives it could just be a gap he wanted. Keep an eye on him, all I'm seeing is minivans." 

"They turned left up by that marquee." 

"Where? Oh, up there. How strong are your reading glasses?" 

"That's why you give me all the paperwork." Blair had finally worked enough of the seat clear to buckle in, after first catching the box on the baby seat. He noticed MacKinacmakan was hovering at one mile under the speed limit. "This happen often?" 

"Usually I get shanghaied. Can you see them?" 

"No, but the squad cars are down that way." Actually, he could hear the Riv's unique engine cool, among several cars of the same recent model, but figured Tracy might believe he could see a glint of the lights or hear a distinctive sound only a cop would catch. 

"Wonder what it is this time?" Tracy found a place to park out of the way and pulled out the key, arranging a reading light on the sun visor. "Hand me that journal, thanks." Flipping to the appropriate article, Tracy was quickly engrossed. 

"What was that all about?" Blair caught up to the taller man down the service street. 

"He's a civilian and knows it. That's what it looks like, Chief." 

Blair gave a brief suffering glance. "Getting anything?" 

"Lot of stuff to sort through. He's found something. Damn. I guess we wait. They ducked into some buildings." 

"What did he find?" 

"Couldn't tell; I was getting his reaction to it, not the clue itself." 

"Do you think..." 

"What, and Vecchio is his Guide? Okay, I'm a little curious. Rat breath? Anything interesting on the way to the restaurant?" 

"Just that Tracy does help out some." 

"What do you think he was dropping off?" Despite the story they told explaining Blair's presence the first months at the station, Jim couldn't image what a normal anthropologist would be doing at a precinct. 

"I'll go ask if you don't wander off." Blair jogged back to the car. 

Ellison turned from the retreating figure and sent his senses out, trying to pick up something. It seemed there was a game of cat and mouse being played among the deserted industrial buildings, as he picked up the occasional sound of ringing metal. Somewhere in there, two young children were being dragged around, having been grabbed from their babysitter. Between the echoes and the chemicals and refuse, he couldn't make out anything else. He turned instead to the closer conversations around the squad cars.

* * *

Could he have really stumbled onto another Sentinel? * _Another_ one.* He shivered away the bad memories associated with _her_. There was the possibility of three heightened senses, just from the conversation this evening. *What about a Guide?* Burton hadn't included much about that aspect in his writings, in fact the term was Brackett's, but it had fit. With Jim, he'd had to make it up as he went along, always questioning how he would compare. Somehow, he was going to have to find some answers. 

"What's going on?" The professor had gotten out to stretch, and noticed the younger man heading back. 

"They're tracking an unstable person who's got a baby and a toddler in tow. Dispatch called Vecchio right after the 911 from the 'sitter."

* * *

*Benny, don't do this to me.* Ray had nearly lost Fraser while getting the report from one of the officers on the scene. Only the years, and that red uniform, allowed him to spot where he had ducked into. *Do you wait for the details?* The woman was undoubtedly on drugs or at least coming down from a high. How else to explain the bloody eight year old that tried to fight her off? *She's got two hostages, and you shake your backup.*

* * *

"Jim. You there, Jim?" He was concerned at how still his partner was. He saw the hand come up, and knew he hadn't zoned, but was simply concentrating. He saw the jaw twitch and then he was following him at a run. "What is it?" 

"I found Vecchio, but there's nothing around him. The Constable doesn't have a gun. The holster was empty." 

*Oh, man.* "Can you find the kids, or anyone else? Try to find three heartbeats, crying." Focusing on guiding, Sandburg didn't notice his partner flashing his badge, or wonder at the officer not seeing it wasn't even from the right state. He noticed that Jim was slowing, and then stopped. 

"I'm going to try getting in from the other side. Tell the detective to head further in, she's hiding among the machinery." Slapping Blair's shoulder, he was off.

* * *

As the men exited, the other personnel started to converge. Ray directed them to give Blair a wide berth as the toddler he was carrying seemed terrified of just about everyone else. He handed the infant off, still shaking at how close the Mountie had come to first missing the catch and then falling himself. Making sure the officers knew the woman would need her rights read when she came to, he sat heavily on the first squad car he came across. He rubbed his hands across his scalp and the back of his neck.

* * *

Jim was at odds, as he waited for Blair to be able to transfer the child off. It had panicked at the other three, especially the Mountie. 'Santa, don't.' He looked over at the toddler buried into his partner's neck, fists tightly clutching at his shoulders. Eyes filling just a bit, Jim turned around. He barely noticed when he got tapped on the arm. 

"Okay, there? They found an officer shorter than me; she had a sweater in the car, so the kid decided she wasn't too scary. Jim?" 

"Yes, Chief. Where are the others?" 

"Over by the Volvo. Looks like the Mountie is getting sent home. What was all that? Who's Tawny?" 

"The child that was watching those two and had to find a pay phone."

* * *

Tracy parked in front of the Craftsman-style duplex, the Mountie going to the left door, and Tracy to the right. He sat to remove his boots in the shared vestibule, and Tracy toed-off footwear and left the coat on a hook, unlocking the left pocket door. 

"Tea? Sit right here." Fraser did as he was told, sitting at the counter while Tracy filled the kettle and turned on a burner. Coming back, Tracy unbuttoned the tunic and laid it to one side, then sat down, partly facing the Mountie, one hand above his knee. "You found them, they should both be okay. That's the important thing, right?" 

"I almost... I only barely... It might have..." The infant arcing through the air was the most horrible thing he'd seen. Even after catching the babe he for a moment visualized catching only cloth and the child still falling. Next thing he knew, he was hanging on a chain and hook, infant in the crook of his arm. 

"But you didn't, even if it was close." Tracy stood and ran a calming hand along one shoulder. "The baby shouldn't be affected at all, except for maybe having an interest in flight. How did you find them anyway?" 

"Iron filings. One of those drawing toys--the case was leaking, and then I could hear them." One would have thought being dragged through the dark factory would have been scary and the rescue welcome. Seeing himself, Ray and Ellison, the previously cranky child trembled. "I've never seen a child so scared. Does my uniform look like Santa?" 

"Compared to anything else? It's red, has shiny buckles." Tracy rubbed a hand over the tense back. "To a child, it very well might. Look, it sounded like the kid was pretty much scared of anyone tall. And the beat cops; luckily, one of the women had a sweater along to cover enough of her uniform." Tracy patted his thigh, went around the end and measured out the tea into the pot and added the water from the kettle. 

"Do you want me to check with Ray on how they're doing?" Tracy poured the tea when it had steeped. "And I'll call Mrs. Vecchio too. I'll be up in a bit."

* * *

"Ray, thanks for letting Regina stay the night. Where is she?" 

"Welsh's office. Said I was a bad influence, and couldn't watch her properly and do my paperwork." Vecchio smiled. "Think we can borrow her? She's got him wrapped around her little finger." 

Tracy walked back to the closed door, knocked and peeked in. The lieutenant looked about ten years happier, doting on the five month old. *Did Ray get her a new play outfit?* As an Italian, he took being a godfather very seriously, and with Maria's kids all school aged, the baby was more restful than his nieces and nephews. "Sorry to interrupt, but this miss has a play date." Tracy restrained the smile that threatened to widen as Welsh tried to regain his curmudgeon-face. 

"Of course. A police station is no place for a baby." Just regaining his gruff 'troop' voice, he let it soften. "Should I... speak to Red, about last night?" These kind of cases were always among the worst. *Any time children are involved.* 

"It might help, sir. He was... mistaken for the other guy in a red suit..." 

*If only I could find _that_ bastard.* Welsh watched as the Professor exited, stopping to visit with Elaine on the way out. It was nearly Christmas, and there was at least one child in Chicago for whom the season was frightening.

* * *

"What time is it?" Blair sat up, noting he was alone in bed, to see one breakfast-bearing Jim. "You went out already?" 

"'Early cop gets the fresh muffins.' Besides, I had to rough up the other bed. Not to rush you, but we should try to get down to the station so they can fill out the paperwork before too long." As he talked, he pulled out the food and napkins and brought over the coffee, sitting on the blankets on Blair's side of the bed. 

"These are good." Blair finished swallowing. "But I want my morning kiss." It was gentle, slow, and very thorough. "That's more like it. You should have woken me up before you went out." 

"Instead? As it was, I barely got out of here. Afterwards, we need to figure out the Welters' matter." 

"Set me out some clothes while I catch a quick shower. Think there'll be hot water?"

* * *

"Okay, we have our reports, and copies of the ones from here, and Welters' confession. What did you smell at the last scene in Cascade?" 

"I'm not sure, but it wasn't Welter. I think I've gotten pretty good at isolating things like shampoo and perfumes." 

"I might have an idea to work on that, but I'll need some time to set up. If it wasn't Welters, how did he know about the ones in Cascade, why confess and how did he fool your lie-detector?" 

"That's what I keep going over. It might be some sort of compensatory thing, ego gratification, claiming the other crimes. But he seems convinced he committed them." 

"Could there have been a press leak? Is he sufficiently delusional?" 

"I guess we'll have to follow those questions up. Okay, what thoughts have you come up with regarding the Constable? Still think he's a Sentinel?" 

"Hey, I just thought it was possible. I'd need to know more about the conditions, parts per million, dispersal time, distance, that sort of thing. Did you find the clue he noticed?" "No, but that wasn't high on my priorities. Did you find out about what the professor was dropping off?" 

"Actually, he asked what was going on, and then it didn't seem so important. Looked like reading packets or journals though." 

"Sentinel senses of your own?" Jim was smiling sideways now. 

"Professional observation. Readings and journals I know, what he might be bringing Vecchio I don't. What did he tell him?" 

"'Return them directly, and to not eat over them.'" 

"Second part's clear enough; I think I'd issue the same warning to half of Major Crimes, seeing them look over files. What about the first?" 

"Doesn't want them dropped in the office pigeonhole at the U? I'm going to call Simon, see if he can get someone checking on Welters' access. What are these tests you have planned?" 

"I'll tell you later, when I get back from the library."

* * *

"You okay, Benny?" Ray watched as his friend took his usual seat, sitting ramrod straight as usual. 

"Fine, Ray. Do you have the file completed?" 

"Yeah. Our part anyway. Now it goes to social services." Vecchio leaned back in his chair, letting the chair snap forward with a creak. "That woman, she's seventeen and the mother of the two kids. The babysitter, eight, is a runaway. Was watching the kids for food and a place to hide. Didn't even mention being hurt when she called, just kept going on about them finding the other two." 

"Actually, that's not unusual. Among the Inuit..." *it would have been a wild animal, attacking out of hunger.* Not a mother so strung out she was a danger to her own children and others'. "Are they going to be all right?" 

"The baby is in pretty good shape, the girl must have been clean and eating sort of right at the time; should be fine with some care." The cop let out a sigh. "The 'sitter is going to be in the hospital for awhile, she was busted up pretty bad." He shook his head, pausing. "The toddler, well, that's harder. We were lucky with Sandburg and Officer Chou; took most of the night to find a doctor that didn't send the child into a panic." Ray stared out, hands on the desk. 

"What cases are you working on?" 

Vecchio pulled himself back. "Pretty routine stuff. Look, if it gets hairy, I'll let you know, but I've got it covered. I think you've earned a break. Not to mention my fear of strange sports equipment. Gurgle at the half-pint for me."

* * *

"What is this" Jim pointed around the room, "supposed to accomplish?" 

"Focus. You need to compare several different sets of stimuli, and see if you missed anything that didn't seem important at the time. Sit down, get comfortable and center yourself." Blair picked up a set of files and a note pad, and headed for the light switch. "Just removing distractions." Blair carefully walked back to Jim, sitting a small distance behind him. He took out a small light and turned to the first folder. 

"Well, what do you think?" Blair had turned the lights back on, and was facing his Sentinel. 

"It's not the same man. Welters is a new nonsmoker, I'd say a former chain-smoker. I barely smelled any smoke in the Cascade cases." 

"Go through the smells that you associated with the Cascade suspect. List all of them, everything you can remember." 

"It was very clean. Soap, faint but anti-bacterial. Unscented shampoo. Some hair styling, but nothing strong. 'Unscented' antiperspirant. Mint. Dry cleaning fluid, liquid fabric softener. Barely any old sweat, and little nicotine." 

"Neat-freak non-smoker. Doesn't narrow it down much. What about the copy-cat angle?" 

Jim pulled himself off the floor and sat on the nearer bed. "Even the reporters didn't have access to some of the things Welters mentioned." He thought a moment. "Not just a non-smoker, Blair. A non-smoker in a smoke-free environment." Blair looked lost. "You generally smell more of smoke than this perp. Even without the coffeehouses." 

"Man, I'm sorry..." 

Jim waved his hand. "No, what I mean is this is a person who makes a real concerted effort to avoid second-hand smoke." 

"Someone who avoids anyone lit up?" 

"Which even with the indoor air-quality act is something of a feat." Their own Captain, Simon, was virtual scofflaw about that when it came to his cigars. 

"Anything else? Okay, so we're taking about someone with no smoker friends, but who still let a former chain smoker in on his crimes. We did check the internet, right?" He flashed a 'had to ask' look at the bemused older man. 

"And this former smoker could pass a lie-detector test on committing our Cascade crimes. Tomorrow I'll call the department shrink and see if they can make more sense of it all. Well, get Simon to ask. You said you had some tests you wanted to run?" 

"Well, it's been bothering me that we haven't put smell through the paces we did with sight and hearing. Except, there aren't any good generic tests we can run. And I can't even think of where to start an inventory." 

"Nothing at the library?" 

"Current science thinks there are separate receptors for thousands of component smells. Who knows how it works with you. Hey!" Blair rubbed his side where he'd been jabbed by Jim's foot. 

"I'm in bed, and that was a pun." The stern look was quickly replaced with a smile. 

"You're _on_ the bed." Blair stood up. "Where was I? Right. I mean, can you detect smells the rest of us can't, or just ones more diffuse? Think the commissioner would approve sending you to K-9 school?" 

Jim pulled the smaller man onto the bed. "Want to say that again, Darwin? You have the puppy-dog eyes. What was your other thought? 

Blair was doing his best to stay in researcher mode, somewhat hindered by being balanced in the bigger man's lap. "Well... I'm still interested about that Mountie. Cut that out!" It took a moment to catch the tickling hands. "Then you suggest something, Officer Detective Sir." He turned around, hands in his lap. 

"Chief." After hesitating, he placed his hands alongside the younger man's knees. "I understand you're trying to optimize my abilities, but we are going back to Cascade in a couple of days. And as much as I'm your personal guinea pig, I doubt the Constable dreams of being a test subject." 

"Then I guess it's the backup plan. Let me get the blindfold." Jim grabbed tighter ahold. "You'll like this, it's a touch test and not work-related. At least it better not be." With that he was allowed to dash off.

* * *

"Come on, Jim. Like we are going to run into anybody in Chicago." Finishing with his last button, Blair really turned on the persuasion. 

"You're serious about this? I take it you've already picked somewhere. This isn't somewhere weird?" Blair stared back at him. "You know what I mean." 

"Hum, what could you mean? Okay, okay. This is not some divergent subculture place, or even one particularly catering to a young crowd. They offer drink specials to members of the armed services in uniform." 

"I'm sure that gets lots of takers. Lead on, my Guide." 

Blair was excited as he drove the rental car to the club. He never got to show off Jim, or just do couple stuff in public. Oh, he understood why, he really did. Ellison was a high profile cop, former military hero, and the press could go seriously off and create a media circus. 

"'No Egrets'? The things I do for you." He had to admit it wasn't too weird, though he wasn't entirely amused by the sign welcoming 'geeks, freaks, and kinks.' He worked on tuning down his Sentinel hearing, wishing he'd remembered to pack the white noise generators. However there was nothing he could do with his sight, to compensate for the bombardment of what looked to be Victorian Circus meets the Space Age. 

"Cool, huh? Thanks for indulging me." With that the shorter man reached up to kiss him. "Come on, I'm your soulmate, act like it." That garnered him an arm around the shoulder. "See. You just need to relax."

* * *

"You don't like it, do you?" Tracy looked over at Ben, who had a schooled look of politeness. "We could leave if it bothers you." 

"No, I'm fine. It's just a little disorienting, the noise and the lights." 

Sometimes Tracy wondered about the man; after all this was the Ben who'd taken them to an industrial fetishist club. Admittedly, that had been an act of desperation, and wasn't something to bring up now. "Dance with me?" Receiving his hand, Tracy pulled them out onto the floor.

* * *

Blair thought Jim made a humorous sight dancing. It was geek music, and bouncing didn't seem part of the larger man's moves. After the truly surreal The Offspring set he decided finding a table might be in order if he didn't want to completely crack-up. 

Jim froze when he spotted them sitting at a table. Blair, who had been pulling the larger man along, looked around. Noticing the pair, he realized they must have been seen. *Man, how do we handle this?* 

Tracy looked around at the three of them. Each seemed surprised, uncertain of how to react. Rather, Fraser and Blair did --Jim was firmly in shock. "Jim. Blair. This is Ben." 

"Hi. Looks busy tonight." Blair flashed his eyes around, seeing only filled tables. He was somewhat relieved when Tracy gestured them to sit. *Jim is going to kill me.* He managed to make some general comments about the club, distracted by the nearly audible grind of Jim's teeth. 

"No talking about work. You'll just have to discuss us." Tracy punctuated it by giving Fraser a brief kiss. Jim was confused, having barely heard anything in the last several minutes. After Blair gave him a peck on the cheek, the next thing he saw was the two anthropologists heading out on the dance floor. 

"Sure I didn't meet him on Easter Island?" Tracy glanced to where Jim and Fraser were sitting, both rather awkward. 

"Huh?" Blair had gotten lost in the music, forgetting the other professor. 

"Jim." Slowly the comment connected in Blair's mind and he started chuckling. 

"He's not much for surprises. Running into you two..." *Insert foot in mouth.* "Anybody in Chicago..." 

"Being recognized?" 

"Yeah." Blair noticeably relaxed. "Mind you, running into you two is also a bit of a surprise." As soon as it was out, he turned sheepish. "Was that me?" 

"It's okay. I'll pin it on him being Canadian." 

Blair smiled at that. "Think I'll stop tripping over myself soon?"

* * *

Fraser glanced between the dance floor and the detective, whose gaze was firmly fixed on the younger anthropologist. Again he wished for etiquette chapters never listed in his grandmother's books. "What is his field of specialization?" 

Jim startled, realizing he'd been in a semi-zone. "Rainforest tribes. How about Tracy?" 

"Popular culture, now. I think tonight counts as research." 

"Or just a trip down memory lane?" He looked at the way Blair was copying novelty steps from the older man, to something about the wild west. *80's. He'd have been a graduate student.* Blair in high school, and himself in the Army. 

Fraser lingered. "Perhaps." He thought how different the Tracy on the floor was from the collected, mannered man who had courted him. "Tracy's accounts of New Zealand are rather... stylized." 

"Him too? Um, Blair has a way of..." 

"Building a mystique? Not to say that he isn't truthful...." 

"Just selective. So, what story does he tell?" Jim nodded his head towards the floor for emphasis.

* * *

"When did you get all mushy?" Blair looked over to the driver seat. "Looks good on you." The song request was a nice touch. 

"Wish I could take the credit." 'Please, Forgive Me' was even a song he knew, though only from the radio, and not by name. 

Blair gave him a confused look. "Tracy." They said it together. 

"Guess I need help and it shows. What's so funny?" As Jim glanced over, Blair was shaking from resisting laughing. 

"I'm pretty sure he requested the Proclaimers' tune that followed." He tried to catch his breath, thinking of the professor jangling the Mountie around the floor. "Picks a rock ballad for us, and then a mirthful boasting ditty for them." 

"Like I said, I need help." Bryan Adams' help? Apparently.

* * *

This wasn't happening. They were supposed to be back in Cascade, in the loft, tonight. That he'd have spent most of it grading exams wasn't the point. 

"You okay?" Ray slid behind his desk and into the chair. 

"Our flight got canceled." Before he could say anything further Welsh leaned out of his office. 

"Vecchio, in here. You too, Sandburg." He continued once they'd sat, Blair close to Jim. "I just finished talking to Captain Banks. We're getting you two on loan, interstate co-operation. Vecchio, they're yours until the blizzard passes." 

Ray was about to open his mouth when he thought better of it. "What the hell. You don't have any Tsimshian that will be showing up?" Ray strode out of Welsh's office. 

* * *

It was strange following the two detectives around. *Not strange. Different.* For once, Blair actually was _observing_ Jim work. *Work with someone else.* Blair had always wondered what Jim would be like with a real partner. A _cop_ partner. *Without the territory-protecting posturing.* Blair and their continuing working relationship being the territory. 

*Not that much different.* And that had been the shocker. Sure there was a bit more formality; these were Vecchio's cases after all. But aside from that, and a few bizarre moments of Jim playing 'good cop' to the other detective's 'bad', Blair realized just how much Jim treated him like a cop. 

"Sandburg, you okay?" Ray looked over to Jim and back to the body. It was a nasty bit of work. "Looks like he was kicked to death." 

Blair tried looking again, and turned away quickly. Jim patted him on the shoulder and turned towards the body. At this point all they could be certain of was that he had been blond. That and the expensive leather coat stood out in the garbage strewn alley. 

"They were making an example of him." But why? While it nominally looked like a mugging gone horribly wrong, a careful search recovered several hundred in cash. And no identification. Jim's attention darted around the crime scene. "What's that?" Focusing his sight, he spotted the glint of gold under the dumpster. Shifting the debris, he pointed out the object to the others. 

"Think there's more where that came from?" Ray whistled at the piece. It was built out of small leaves, of what looked to be pure gold. 

"Careful, Jim." Blair exhaled once the ornate earring was in an evidence bag. "Oh, man." He looked up, noticing the odd looks he was getting. "I don't often handle artifacts a quarter as old as that." He backpedaled at that moment. "Saying that it is an original and not just a really impressive replica. Mesopotamia is not exactly my specialization."

* * *

This was just too weird. "What the hell is a damn four thousand year old Babylonian earring doing in a Chicago alley?" Ray was getting well into his rant. 

"Could be Akadian. Possibly Assyrian, but it is a bit delicate for that." 

"Whatever." Ray stopped in mid-windmill. "What's the difference? Wait, I don't want to know." 

Blair closed his mouth on the undelivered mini-lecture. "It isn't really going into lockup? No offense, but that's not really the most..." 

"I got it a shoebox all of its own. Chief, it's in the safe. Don't hyperventilate." 

*That wasn't funny.* "It should be in a museum." At that moment he had a horrible thought. "You don't think they'd just melt them down? Whatever else there was, I mean." There was always the possibility that it had come from a private collection. 

"Possibly." Ray stopped the younger man. "There's no reason to think this was a smash and run. Our John Doe may not have been the smartest, but he looks to have been doing well for himself." 

"Hired help." With his hand caught in the cookie jar. *Suggesting that it was a _big_ cookie jar.* 

Knock-knock. "Ray, this just came through." Officer Bresbis entered the room carrying a file. "It's pretty interesting reading." 

"Thought this is what you went through the Academy to avoid? Thanks, Elaine." She left the room. Ray started poring over the file. "Definitely not local talent." He turned around the copy of an Argentinean passport.

* * *

This was not happening. Vecchio tried to keep still as Welsh finished his briefing. "Sir, isn't it Huey's turn?" 

*Why do I put up with him?* "You never ask that question for any other kind of case." Not that Vecchio was alone in this perception of alternating, nor that it wasn't the practice. It had only recently occurred to Harding what a sad state of affairs that really was. "Dewey is stuck in court. You, on the other hand, seem to have plenty of help to draw on. Dismissed." 

*How am I going to play this?* Ray looked towards his desk, where his chair was occupied by Sandburg precariously balancing a laptop while Ellison went through case files. If he could at all help it, he was not going to pull in Benny. Which the precinct would probably decide was weird. *Or not.* By now most of the department knew about Tracy and Ben. Regardless, it meant giving up his best source of information. *Tracy deserves an uninterrupted holiday season.* Not being tapped as department gay-life expert. 

Looking up at Jim's nudging, Blair made to scramble out of the chair. "Sorry. Trying to stay current with my students' latest excuses." 

Ray briefly pondered that. How did the professor juggle the life academic with tagging along after a detective? *Distinct lack of a social life.* "Well, it's time to do the canvassing."

* * *

"Jim." Blair paused as the larger man scooted away slightly. "We need to talk about this." 

He rolled over to look at his Guide. *My beautiful Blair.* "You're going to insist, aren't you?" It was exactly the sort of case he'd never be assigned in Cascade. *Nobody died.* Yet. 

"Can't you just say it?" Blair tried to stay calm. He quickly failed. "You hold your fears so close..." He paused, grasping a large wrist. "It's no guarantee, keeping it a secret. Even a rumor could be enough. And it isn't foregone, either." Lots of gays went without being bashed. *Didn't they?* 

"Isn't it enough every psycho in Cascade seems to have your picture? I know you think I'm overreacting. I just want to keep you safe, as much as possible. No bullseyes, okay?" *Guess not.* Blair tensed so much at his last words, Jim could almost feel the loft's couch cushions. 

"Fine." He rolled away, and then abruptly rolled back. "Damn it. What are a few losers with low self-esteem compared to the who's who of professionals we go up against all the time?" 

"You wouldn't have to worry about any of them if it weren't for me." 

The words were almost too soft for Blair to hear. But not quite. One hand and then the other claimed Jim's face. "I love you. You're part of me. This ain't some selfless martyr complex." 

*Chief?* Somehow the smaller man had flowed over him during the oratory. Possessively. As if to punctuate his meaning, Blair latched his lips hungrily to those below him. Swept along, Jim was startled when Blair pulled back, grinding down a few times before dismounting. Scooting to the far edge of the bed, turned away.

* * *

"Tracy?" Ray looked up from his paperwork. "Whatever it is, Benny got himself into it." 

"I'm not welcome at the station?" Tracy stopped the backpedaling Italian. "Got you. Actually, I'm here to see an earring. Which I should have heard about from you." 

Ray pulled himself up. "Let me guess. Professorial conspiracy?" He walked over to Welsh's office. 

"What? No, --Blair's still in town?" 

"Um, yeah. Then how did you know? I mean about the earring?" 

"Ancient secret. So why didn't you call?" 

"Well, it isn't like we _just_ found it in an alley. There was a violent crime, and... You know how Frasier is. You deserve a nice family Christmas." 

*Tsk, tsk, tsk.* The red-haired head shook back and forth. "He's going to think you are avoiding him." Tracy's serious expression changed to a smile. "Thanks for the thought, though. I still want to see the earring." 

At that moment, Welsh exited, or rather tried to exit his office. "Finally. Somebody who can be of use. Professor, do you have a moment?" 

"Lieutenant..." Ray sensed deep in his gut this was not good. 

"Don't you have cases to work on?" Welsh stared the Italian back to the file-strewn desk. "Now, professor, we have a few things that you might be able to give us some help on." Welsh warned Vecchio across the room not to interfere and guided the academic into his office. "That is to say, you have had input on other cases..." 

*Why do I have a feeling this isn't about the earring?* Because if it was, Welsh wouldn't be mincing around. Since there was really but the one case Tracy assisted on, his meaning was pretty obvious. "Who are they this time?" 

"Brass tacks." *Good man.* He hadn't been very understanding the last time the New Zealander got involved in a case. And Tracy had been vital in the apprehension of a serial killer. Since that time, Welsh was trying to make his way through the tricky ground of his own prejudice. "The good news is that no one has died." Yet. Though from some of the injuries it might be just a matter of time. "The bad news is _no one_ is talking." 

"No one?" That whetted Tracy's inquiring mind. 

"We're not even sure how many victims we have. So far, we have five reported incidents that bear enough resemblance to be a single case." *Damn.* If Tracy was going to be able to help, he'd need to see the files. Which went counter to the victims' rights to privacy. 

"Give me a profile. Street intersections." MacKinacmakan knew that live victims made unofficial civilian involvement even more dicey. And from experience, the higher up the hierarchy, the greater the penalty for rule-bending. 

Welsh rattled off the pertinent particulars. He watched as Tracy pondered the bald facts. 

"Well, either it's a hate crime or a stalker." On the surface they were pretty catholic in their targets. "It seems odd for them to be targeting two rather separate areas." 

"Two? None of the reported incidents are in the same place." He nodded an okay to Tracy regarding the map, who pulled down a clean section of film and selected a washable marker from his jacket. 

"Here" Tracy made several 'x's on the plastic. "Are the scenes. But here..." Tracy drew two irregular shapes over the map. "are the contexts." Stepping back from the map, the lecture was continued. "I'm surprised no one talked over here." *Oh, that might explain it.* Tracy leaned in closer. On the map a number of lines intersected within the blotch. Precinct boundaries. "Poaching again?" 

*More like case dumping.* Ever since he had reported another Lieutenant's men as showing unacceptable bias, certain cases were generally forwarded to the 27th. *If that's what it takes, so be it.* "So why the difference between the two areas?" 

Tracy thought a moment about how to explain it. "Well, this area has greater expectations of the authorities pursuing cases and barring that, of getting the media to force the issue." 

"Why the difference?" As a cop, he knew how important neighborhood 'feel' was to the job. Apparently, there were distinctions he was ignorant of. 

"It's a lot of things. This group is more used to being in the public eye. Whether by choice or not." Tracing the other shape, the lecture continued. "These groups tend to be more closed. They feel more like they should be able to take care of their own business." *And that they need to.* "Has that been helpful?" 

"Yeah. Thanks, professor." Welsh got up, to show him out. "Are you good with ancient artifacts?"

* * *

*Great. Just great.* Here he was, in Chicago, instead of grading exams, while Jim performed his Me Tarzan imitation. Apparently, being reminded of their relationship was too much for the genetic throwback. Blair looked up from his walk, realizing he had made his way to the campus and furthermore was in front of the Social Sciences Building. *No way.* As he thought about it, he headed inside. Professor MacKinacmakan probably would be home at this hour. Still... 

Tracy pored over yet another textbook sample. "Why did it have to go out of print _after_ the bookstore off-loaded the last edition?" There was a knock on the door. "Pizza, two doors down. Finals, I'm not talking about. Next semester's classes, come back tomorrow." Not hearing anyone leave, Tracy stood and opened the door. 

"Um, bad time. I'll be going." Blair started to leave as the older man grabbed his shoulder. 

"Visiting profs or Greek takeout, enter." 

"Greek takeout?" Blair wondered at the nonsequiter. 

"Wandering food deliveries will be purchased at my discretion." Tracy directed the younger man inside. "No, not that chair. That's for Anthro 101." 

"Huh?" It looked like an ordinary chair to him. He sat in the pointed out chair. 

"Let me demonstrate." Promptly Tracy was sitting half folded up, shoulders nearly even with the top of the desk. 

"Oh! That is so sneaky." The bigger the person, the farther back in the seat they sat and the lower they were in relation to the desk. 

"It serves its purpose. The coach still wonders what I'm doing." Tracy stood and sat next to Blair. "Anything about that earring?" *Okay, so that isn't what you came to talk about.* 

Blair blinked for a moment, totally forgetting the artifact for a moment. "Did you see it?" He shivered at the thought of Jim not seeing it. How easily history could have been swept away... 

"Finally. It's quite safe. But that's not why you're here." 

*Damn.* "That obvious?" 

"Not unless you know the other cards on the table. I take it Jim is working with Ray on _all_ the new cases?" 

"Yeah. You've heard?" 

"Some. I'm the guest expert. Goes with being half of the best-kept non-secret of the department." 

"They _know_?" Blair tried to take back his surprise. "Just that closed societies..." 

"Tend to make allowances that maintain the stability of the group." *Which you'd remember if you weren't too close.* "We're not out, and everybody likes Fraser. Those that can't handle it don't have to, and the rest have figured it out." 

Blair couldn't imagine how that worked. "They're used to not questioning the Mountie. But..." 

"I'm his landlord." Tracy smiled. Ultimately, the 27th had been on their ear so long the inexplicable was second nature. More serious, Tracy continued. "Jim isn't taking this case well." 

"He thinks it just proves he's right." Blair got up and started meandering. 

*Right?* Tracy sat there stunned trying to make sense of the younger professor's words. 

"That it's too dangerous for us to be out. We're roommates, too. I'd like to think our friends could handle the truth, but then again..." 

"Who knows?" Tracy watched as the energy drained out of Blair. 

"You and Ben." The words passed out so softly that Blair had to repeat them a second time. "You and Ben." They had thought about telling Naomi. Between her near inability to keep anything a secret and her still tentative acceptance of a cop, albeit Jim, in her son's life, they had decided against it. *I decided.* Anticipating Jim. 

"Family?" Tracy stood, placing a hand on the shorter man's shoulder. 

"He's lost them once already." Blair didn't want Jim to lose any of his family connections because of their love. "So, whose car seat?" Blair waited for the older man to catch up with his subject change. 

"Regina's. You could give a man whiplash. I'll be honest. What Ben and I have with the 27th is special. Jim, I suspect, is pretty much Big Man of the Cascade Cops?" 

"Of Major Crimes, anyway." 

"It's a big difference. We're both outsiders. Jim isn't, and I'd bet by extension, you aren't either. It is a more threatening situation. If you're the type to see things that way." Tracy paused. "So, about that earring? What do you make of it?"

* * *

"Vecchio, tell me you're making progress on this case." Welsh looked over the three men in his office. 

"Sir," Ray stopped as he was cut off by a look. 

"Tell me." Welsh leaned forward. "Not because the Chief is asking." Or because any of the city's reporters might stumble across the story. "Tell me." 

"Everybody is too wary." Blair looked between the two detectives. *In for a penny...* "It's not being taken seriously. The police investigation, I mean. By the potential witnesses... They feel that after a half-hearted attempt, the incidents will be shelved." 

"Then gain their trust. Vecchio, I want those areas to know the law works. Not just someplace else, but _there_. Go on, get to work!" 

Ray hurried out of the office, followed by Ellison and Sandburg. What the hell were they going to do? Before he could ward it off, Tracy came all the way into the Bullpen, Welsh's door still open. 

"Professor, just the man I wanted to see." Harding bellowed out to the anthropologist. Unlike Red, Tracy knew when to let the professionals handle things. *Not that the Mountie isn't a professional.* The _paid_ professionals. *Now, I'm doing it....* 

"Lieutenant?" Tracy leaned into the office. Waved inside, the anthropologist took a seat. 

"Straight to the point. I've got three clueless officers, uncooperative citizens, and any day one of these beatings might end up fatal." Welsh made a point of playing with the stack of folders as he spoke. 

Tracy looked up as Lt. Welsh got out of his chair and made his way around the desk. 

"Want me to bring you some coffee on the way back?" 

"Two sugars." Tracy kept the file corners in sight as the older man headed off. Picking up the files, the scholar realized they were copies, with names and other personal information blacked out. Scanning through them, Tracy finally folded them up and stuffed them into a jacket pocket. 

"Here's that coffee." The paper cup was passed over. "So, what are the three of you planning for Christmas?"

* * *

"Ray, we need to talk." 

Ray looked at the Mountie looking up from _his_ desk chair. Where Benny normally only sat to type reports. 

"Sure. So what are you doing for the bug?" 

"You're trying to avoid me." Fraser looked out with his stoic expression. 

"Aw, Benny. Don't do that. Come on. It's your first Christmas as a family. Regina wasn't born last year, and you were up North playing Nanook. I'm thinking about my own hide here too. I don't want to wind up with an apple in my mouth." 

"Ray?" He watched as his friend got wound up. 

"You know how these cases get. They may start small enough, but the next thing you know, a bank vault is filling with water." 

Fraser tried to make sense of the Italian's unusually cryptic words. 

"My goose would be cooked if you miss Regina opening presents." 

"Ah." That explained the roasted pig comment. He really wasn't sure the apple would be accurate. Of course, the Maori were a divergent Polynesian group, and thus any luau imagery was doubly suspect. 

"I hate it when you do that. I'm not ignoring you, just trying to save your hide. Come on. Hard as it may be to believe, they don't stay small for long."

* * *

Fraser looked at the papers. Noticing that Tracy had worn this jacket several times since it had last gone to the cleaners, he had been going through the pockets before adding it to the garments he was already taking. 

What was Tracy doing with police files? Scanning through them, he noticed that while the locations of attack and injuries suffered were complete, names and several other portions were crossed out. Why would Ray be trying to enlist Tracy's help and discourage his own? 

Tracy bustled through the kitchen door, Regina in one arm, soft-sider in hand, grocery bag in the other arm, keys still grasped. "Guess the Dragon-Lady made Daddy stay late." The keys dropped onto the counter before the bag was lowered down as well. "Can you be a good girl?" Regina was switched to the other arm and the bag sat on the floor. Quickly Tracy had the baby stripped out of the snow outfit and into the booster. "Back in a minute." Striding off sock-clad, soft-sider in one hand and snowsuit in the other, the professor went to put things away. 

Tracy watched Fraser come down the stairs. "Thought you weren't home yet." Unlocking the pocket door, Tracy went into the vestibule, hanging the two coats on the hooks. About to open the other door Tracy visualized the keys in the kitchen. Picking the case back up, Tracy padded back through the house. "Ben, can you start dinner? Cut some vegetables for stir-fry. Hi." With a hand wriggle to Regina, Tracy went out the other way from the kitchen, down the hall and into the office at the end. Unpacking, Tracy slipped into the leather chair. It would be so nice to stay right there until dinner was ready, but Ben had already taken more than his share of turns during the drive toward finals. "Nothing like flash-searing some food."

* * *

"We aren't getting anywhere this way." Vecchio threw out his arms in frustration. He didn't know which was worse, that nobody seemed to have seen anything, that guys were _hitting on_ them, or that Sandburg was getting most of the attention. It was looking like it was time for Ellison's tranquilizer dart. 

"Come on. When it gets like this there's only one thing to do." He headed for the Riveria. 

"What's that?" Blair jogged to catch up. 

"Eat a big home-cooked meal." 

"That's okay..." 

Ray cut off the other detective. "I've got the whole family living with me. Trust me, I'd rather they cook than shop." His mom could spend days fattening up the anthropologist. He wondered idly if it was a venal sin to deliver someone into Frannie's clutches. *Probably mortal.* 

"Jim..." Blair spoke quietly, for just his partner. He flashed his best entreating look. He smiled as Jim caved.

* * *

Jim couldn't believe how loud it was. Even from outside and in the car he could _hear_ the house. Inside it was simply amazing so much noise could be produced without mechanical means. *Like military ordinance.* They'd arrived with the family just sitting down, causing a thorough reshuffling of places. 

"Maria, offer our guest more polenta. Do you have enough there?" 

Blair nodded as he inhaled food. 

"Frannie, pass down the penne. Tony, get your hands off that bread. Raimondo, eat. Angelo, stop that." 

Jim looked down at the little monster he'd been seated next to. Best he could tell, Maria was the woman on the other side, and she was the mother. Completely oblivious to the destructive force of her child. Blair was half-way around the table, the better to be force-fed by the matriarch. Vecchio seemed to have secured the quietest spot despite the feuding with his sister. 

"So, detective, how'd you compare crime there and here?" Frannie smiled at Ellison, momentarily looking up from her plate. 

"Not as many car chases and explosions." Sandburg continued eating. "Helicopters, deranged madmen, foreign cartels." 

Jim flashed him a 'stop' glare. 

"Agents, assassins, and criminally beautiful women." Blair turned, oblivious to Jim's ire, back to his dinner. 

"Cool." Angelo looked over to his uncle. "Why don't you have that?" 

Jim listened as the younger Vecchios started a new argument, liberally flavored with Italian. 

"Do you like Chicago?" Frannie cut through the kids' antics, focusing on Jim. 

"Do you have children?" Ma looked sharply at her flirting daughter. 

Jim nearly choked. "No," he was able to spit out. 

"What about you dear? But then you're barely old enough to be married." 

It was Blair's turn to avoid breathing ragu. "Uh, no." 

"He's old enough." *He's _mine_.* Realizing he was staring, he looked down at his plate.

* * *

Tracy looked over at Fraser. He'd been unnaturally quiet all night, in the loud way only the Mountie could _be_ quiet. With Regina fed and bedded down, and Dief walking off his campus gleanings, Tracy was going to get to the bottom of this. "What's wrong?" 

Fraser continued brushing his teeth. 

"I can tell _something_ is." Tracy laid hands on the proud bare back, words hitting the neck. With that, the professor left the bathroom. 

Shedding clothes, emptying pockets, and sorting them into the laundry, Tracy waited for Fraser to reveal what was wrong. Getting into bed, Tracy still waited. 

Fraser got into his side of the bed and turned off the light. 

Tracy turned it back on. "What's wrong?" Pressing chest to back, a long hand covered flesh above Fraser's left hip. Lying there with the uncooperative Mountie, the anthropologist looked around their bedroom. 

Spotting the folded papers. *That I left in my jacket.* "Is this about Ray's cases?" Tracy could feel a little 'yes' shiver. "Are you feeling left out?" 

"He wants your assistance, not mine." * _Fraser_.* "I didn't get those from Ray. Sorry, can't divulge my source. Hell, he didn't even tell me about an Indus earring. Ray feels guilt deeply. You know how he is about family. So he's going overboard." 

"You didn't get the papers from Ray?" 

"He's been trying to shoo me out of the precinct." Tracy could feel Fraser relax. "'Night." With that the light was off.

* * *

"Jim..." Blair followed after his glowering sentinel, heading for their room. "I wasn't flirting. Hell, she was making goo-goo eyes at you first." Amusing as it was to 'shout' after Jim without making a scene, he wished his lover would respond. "Definitely second-choice material. Did you see the way she was slavering over you? Uff!" Inside the room, door closed, Jim held it shut with _his_ body. 

Jim pulled back slightly from the possessive mouth-plunder. "You're first-choice, all the way." He slid his hands under the shirts. "You wear too many clothes. I like it," He started on the jeans. "only I get to see you." 

"Just you." Blair wriggled as he was stripped, still pinned to the door. He clawed at Jim's clothes. "Strip." Soon bare chest rubbed against furred.

* * *

"Gentlemen. I've brought in an advisor for this case." Welsh gave Ray a warning look. "Like any of you know what to do? Professor." He paused as MacKinacmakan entered. "Please take a seat. What have we got so far?" 

Tracy let the other men talk, waiting to hear how far they had gotten. It wasn't too good. The one area was talking more, now that they were aware of the changes in how the case was being handled. Still, people hadn't seen much. The other area continued not being very cooperative. 

"Sounds like a change of tactics is in order." Having caught their attention, the professor continued. "Have you considered going undercover?" 

"Not again?!" Vecchio whinged piteously. 

"Sorry, Sir." Fraser made to close the door. 

"Come in." He turned back to the anthropologist. "Think that's necessary? What do you suggest?" 

"Wouldn't that be standard procedure? Nothing elaborate, just pairs keeping their eyes and ears open. It's completely unlike last time." 

Harding let out a sigh. "Okay. This once, I'm going to let you use my office. I've got to go and talk to the Chief." 

"What's the situation with this case?" 

"What is it ever? No one sees anything, they're not talking. You'd think the victims at least would want these guys caught." Vecchio looked over at his friend. 

"A little hard to talk with your jaw wired shut." MacKinacmakan pushed up from the chair and walked over to the map and lined up the film marking the attacks. "Aside from results, would you say the beatings here and here were equal?" 

"The Halstead cases appear to have fought back. Beyond that, comparable." 

Tracy looked at the map, and back at the visiting detective. Tracy's gaze went to the other detective. "Ray, these are the ones that aren't talking. They probably got something of a look at their attackers. Over here," pointing out the other grouping, "the injuries match with being blindsided. Didn't you still get some descriptions?" 

"Several guys, big. Real helpful. Look, I accept that victims make poor witnesses. Why won't the other ones talk?" 

"Misplaced machismo?" 

"So one team in each area? This has happened before... You were referring to a last time?" Blair looked around the room. 

"That was a more... complicated situation." 

"Let's get to work." Jim busied himself with the stack of photocopied maps.

* * *

Blair wondered why Tracy was bundling him out of the office so fast. Was it his way of saying Blair shouldn't go undercover? 

"You've got to get them to switch things around." 

"Huh?" Blair was pushed through a door, noticing that he was in a small storage room. Complete with a swinging light bulb and chain. 

"You know Fraser will try to team up with Ellison." Tracy interrupted the outburst. "And on the surface, he'd be right. Jim would spend most of his time watching you. But Ben's not the right choice either." 

"Vecchio?" "Is going to need someone to help him on the dance scene." The Italian would _not_ fit in at leather bars. 

*That's not the Constable.* "Jim can't just go in without backup. Sure he was with Vice, but..." Then there was the zoning factor. 

"Great." Anything but. "He needs a guide. Somebody to show him the ropes and keep him off them." Tracy ignored the muffled swallow. 

"What was that 'last case?'" Blair gestured back at the office. 

"Oh." The taller professor thought about Ray not mentioning the earring. "They had to go in undercover in drag. Like I said, nothing like the last time. Though I suppose a levi bar is just as much about drag, hyper-masculine opposed to an over-idealized feminine." Tracy filed a mental note for the next 'sign and symbol' lecture. 

It took a moment for Blair's mind to screech to a halt and make a 180\. As much as he didn't like to admit it, the older anthropologist was right. He _would_ be a distraction for Jim. *He'd go caveman on the first guy that gave me a once over.* "So, what was your part in that case?"

* * *

" _Are you out of your mind_?" Ray looked at the Canuck and the Kiwi. *I hate it when you do that.* Apparently that 'at rest' stance _was_ genetic. "Ellison?" 

"Simon would hate it, but we've done worse with his blessing." He turned to Blair. "Remember when your mom got pulled into that car-theft sting?" 

Ray watched the smaller man try to stifle the giggles. "Benny..." He gave up, realizing he'd have a better chance with the Mona Lisa. "Fine. I get Sandburg and the discos, Ellison takes Tracy to the bars. Who goes with Fraser?" 

"Just a second." The professor opened the office door. "Elaine, could you join us for a moment?"

* * *

Tracy sped through the Osco drug, tossing items into the cart. Toilet paper, the cheap pens that always wandered away with students anyway, diapers, diaper wipes, more diapers, a big can of mousse. Up by the pharmacy and the check-out, Tracy batted a box of condoms into the cart and got into the line. 

For the duration of the stake-out, Regina was going to be sleeping nights over at the Vecchios', and Ray would bring her to the campus for day-care. Through check-out, Tracy got the bags into the car and headed home. *Find Ben's beat-up work jeans.* It was a start, but MacKinacmakan wondered how they were going to pull this off. The other anthropologist had been designated 'shopper' as he was the only one with any time. Pulling into the driveway in the rear of the house, Tracy stormed inside, grabbing a few items from the bag and hurrying upstairs. 

Tracy ran downstairs at the doorbell, the oversized denim shirt doubly big over the form-fitting jeans. Unlocking and sliding the pocket-door open, Blair was let in. 

"Two doors?" 

"The other one leads straight into my office. How was the hunting?" 

"Fortunately the fighting wasn't so fierce in the men's department. Those women belong in a war party." He dug into the large bag and held out a shirt. 

"You've got to be kidding." Tracy looked at the sleeveless burnished-brown tee, that was at turns shimmery and slick, patterned vaguely like snakeskin or alligator. 

"You said you were going for dangerous and exotic. That's it." 

"How did you do for the two of you?" 

"Few things I liked anyway." 

"They're in the bag?" Blair nodded in response. "Get changed in the back bathroom. Head to the kitchen, " Tracy pointed, "and then go out the other way. Can't miss it." The professor went back upstairs. 

* * *

"That bad?" Tracy regarded the four men and Elaine, each with various expressions of disbelief. 

"Only meaning hot." Elaine circled, giving an appreciating assessment. The shirt was second-skin tight, displaying the pecs and highlighting the firm biceps, while the jeans had their own point of interest. She wondered if the jewelry was his or specifically for this case. Neither the Viking braids nor the jade earrings did much for her, but the bone choker was another story. "Think I can borrow him for my next Reunion?" She directed the question over her shoulder to Fraser. 

"Shouldn't we get on with this, ladies?" Vecchio thrummed with impatience. 

"Um, yes. Tracy, how should I answer any... inquiries?" 

"The truth." Tracy adjusted Ben's casual evening clothes, smoothing down the shirt front and shifting the collar. "We've been busy with the new baby, and introduce your friend." Catching his chin in hand, the New Zealander gave him a buss on the lips, before releasing the Mountie. Turning to the young officer, "Your car's out back? Have a good time." With a peck on the cheek, Elaine and Fraser were seen off. 

"So, what are the honest opinions?" Tracy laughed broadly as Ray and Ellison each looked horrified at the question. "Blair, you and Vecchio, go out the front. Jim and I'll go out my door in a bit. And Ray," the detective halted, "no pulling your gun because someone cuts in." Blair snorted at that on the way out. 

"Detective, that's a great looking coat, but not the right one for this operation." The man had to be burning up, waiting as he had in the full length wool coat. "Off with it." 

Jim looked to either side, jaw locked and followed orders like a good soldier, gently taking the coat off, and slinging it over one arm. 

"I'll take that." The anthropologist lifted it away and hung it in the foyer. 

"What?" Jim looked at the man's twitching mouth. 

"Nothing." The cop was embarrassed, wearing well-fitting jeans, boots and a snug white tee, a combination he'd assuredly worn hundreds of times without a second thought. "Come on, we've got to go through the kitchen." Tracy led them through the house, past the living room, through the dining room into the kitchen and then into the other hall. 

"Which one should we start with?" No answer. "Detective?" 

"What would you suggest?" The words ground out past the tight composure. 

"Let's save the Cellblock for another night. How about the P & Q?" 

Jim didn't answer and wordlessly put on the offered leather jacket.

* * *

Ellison pulled into a parking space at some distance from their destination. From here he could see the sign. "Thought you called it the P & Q? Why does it have a db over qp?" 

"Is Hooters just a sportsbar?" Tracy popped the door open and got out, buttoning the sueded fleece coat against the wind. 

From the street it sounded like a normal bar, rock blaring on a substandard stereo, pool balls careening into each other and down the pockets, beer flowing from taps, glasses clinking on tables. He followed in after the anthropologist. 

He wasn't prepared for the bouncer acting as a coat-check girl. As he surveyed the bar he saw the sense in it. The men wandered freely, as much as possible with the crowd, in the space dominated by pool tables, with limited seating scattered where it would fit. 

"Bottle of Mich." Tracy looked around the bar while waiting for the barkeep to snap the cap off. Putting down the bills, the anthropologist staked-out one of the few stools, along with a table smaller than a serving platter. 

Tracy smiled when Jim waded through with his O'Doul tap. The detective grimaced at the bottle. "I think I can handle _an_ American beer." 

Jim watched as the professor appeared to pound back the beer, but he could hear most of the liquid splash back down and around the bottle.

* * *

"So, what was drag like?" They'd been working their way on and off and back onto the dance floor seemingly forever. 

Ray started choking. *MacKinacmakan strikes again.* From across town. "Annoying." *Much like this stake-out.* How they were going to hear anything useful was beyond him. Or see anything. 

"You know, in the Bhil marriage rites, the groom is bedecked in women's jewlery as a sign of his changing status." 

"I don't want to talk about it." 

* * *

"So this is _the_ grill?" Elaine looked from her seat to the neighboring tables. They were one of the few mixed pairs, though there were some larger tables with a variety of combinations. Just in the time waiting for their appetizers, several people had come over to ask about the professor. Fraser was putting away his wallet again, from his last showing of pictures. 

"Hum?" 

"When was the last time you and Tracy have been down here?" She saw that it took him awhile to think back. 

"While we were building the house." 

"Ben!" That was over a year ago. Admittedly he'd been gone for a winter North of the Border, but still! "When was the last time the two of you went on a date?" 

"We go out once a week." 

"You don't get to count dinners with Ray." When he didn't contradict her, she got very concerned. "You two must have been here a lot if after a year they're still concerned enough to come over." 

Fraser smiled. "I suppose you could say that." He got a little lost in the memories. "Sorry?" 

"Nothing important."

* * *

Jim was getting disturbed. First, there were the come-ons. Lots of come-ons. His senses weren't doing him any favors, in an over-packed bar of seething men. Between the varying quality of colognes, the warming alcohol, the soaps and sweat, which assaulted his smell, the noise which included slurping and frictive denim in addition to the explosive impact of cue ball against ball, and the sights... He was developing a real headache. 

Then, there was the professor. He'd abandoned Jim for the pool tables, where he was having no problems blending in. Jim spluttered back into his near-beer. *Blending?!* He really hadn't been paying close attention; the area just behind the tables being a make-out section. 

Ostensibly, the professor was playing pool. *Playing the other men.* Either stroking the cue just so or rubbing a thumb over the bottle he was still nursing while waiting his turn, stretching over the table when Jim was sure he didn't need to. All in order to make a curtain out of the partly braided red hair, to pull the jeans tight, and not from a strictly pool reason. 

It was subtle. Unlike with too many hairspray women it wasn't an obvious ploy; without his senses, Jim doubted he would have noticed the small shifts that gave away this wasn't Tracy's normal playing style. 

"Enjoying the show? I think it's time to call it a night." Tracy put a neat wad of bills in a hip pocket. "Best to leave while they're still happy to lose their pants." 

The two made their way out front, grabbing their coats before walking out to the car. "Jim, hand me the keys." The detective looked back confused. "You don't look so good." 

"Just a headache. I'm fine." Jim slipped behind the wheel. The other man threw him the same concerned look Sandburg would, before getting into the passenger seat and buckling up. "What the hell were you doing? How much did you take them for?" 

"Playing pool. Look, one beer was going to look strange without a reason and pool can certainly keep me busy. After all, it's not like there was a question that I'd be leaving with the same person I came with." 

*Same shit you would have pulled.* And had in his days in Vice; the center of attention was rarely thought to be the cop watching the watchers. 

"Not much, just a couple hundred."

* * *

Fraser was sitting in the kitchen when he heard the pocket door slide open and shut, then another door swing on its hinges. Finally he could hear the slipper-shod footsteps. 

"You didn't have to stay up." Tracy leaned in for a slow kiss. "You could have waited for me in bed." The professor looked down at the hand ghosting by the crotch of the broken-in jeans. "We've got the house to ourselves." Dief had refused to leave the Vecchio kitchen that evening. "Any ideas?" Tracy was pulled closer, until nearly straddling the Mountie, whose hands were starting to toy with the unusual shirt. "Why don't you go upstairs while I get out of this get up?" 

Fraser kneaded the denim-covered handfuls. He liked them sharing clothes. "Maybe I should help you?" He ran his hands up the man-made fabric. "What is this made of?" 

"You'll have to check the label. I was in a hurry." The hands ran up and down a few more times before heeding the offer, revealing the taut stomach. 

"Lycra and polyester." The shirt was dropped to the floor. 

Other clothing joined it, as did the pair moving down from the stool. A jock was quickly covered by a white pair of boxers. Fraser knelt tight against Tracy, pushing them against the island. Denied the neck by the choker, he sucked alternating shoulders, before closing the final distance, bent legs clasping behind his back. Rocking, he pinned Tracy in the best position to receive his strokes, while strong hands clasped his shoulders mercilessly.

* * *

Blair and Jim got back to the hotel nearly simultaneously, Jim pulling into park just as Blair got out of the undercover sedan. Wordlessly they went upstairs to their room. After the door was closed, Blair started up. "How'd it go?" No response. "What was it like?" Still no response. "So you've found somebody with big muscles and you're going to run away with him." That got a response, and Blair was spun around sharply. For a moment the two men just breathed. 

"Don't even joke." Bending into the left shoulder, he nuzzled at the flesh there, scenting the neck. Then he gave the same treatment to the other side. Dipping his face into the tufts peeking out from the open collar, he started on the buttons. "Yours are the only ones I want. Strong arm me quite well." 

"And here I was thinking you only wanted me for my mind." Blair leaned into the touches, before starting his own campaign of caresses. "You'll tell me later." He edged the words in. "How it was." While they lost their clothes. "What it felt like." Then there was no more talking.

* * *

"What's going on here?" Tracy looked at the number of suits carrying small crates through the Precinct. Finally the professor was able to attract officer Brebris' attention. "Elaine?" 

"Art dealer called, thinking there was something fishy about a collection he was in the process of buying." 

"Forgeries?" 

"Stolen property." Elaine took her leave. 

It was always something in Chicago. "Ray!" *It is busy today.* As soon as Tracy saw the television, the thought of going to lunch scattered. 

"As if we didn't have _enough_ going on!" Vecchio could be heard through the throng of personnel. 

The television burbled the story one more time. The cost of the property damage. It took awhile for the reporter, standing outside to get to the point. A few pictures got there first. "...made more tragic during this holiday season." The footage went back to a few more tight shots of the spray painted swastikas, before going to a stock picture of a Hanukkah menorah. 

"Huey, you, Dewey and Brebis go handle that. The rest of you, get back to work." Welsh looked up. "Professor. Where's Regina?" 

"Naptime." That the end of the semester jockeyed the faculty schedules meant nothing for the campus daycare. "What's going on?" 

"The usual. Some people can't stand to see anybody happy." He paused. "Too much to expect any news?" He acknowledged the silent affirmative. "Don't let this interfere too much." For a moment a wistful, almost nostalgic, expression crossed his face. And then he went back inside his office and shut the door. 

Tracy waded through to Ray's desk. "Want me to go pick up some lunch?" 

The detective looked up. "Not at the Consulate?" 

"Not exactly dressed for it." Tracy smiled at the chuckle that elicited. "Fraser is counting linen napkins for the New Year's fete. Polishing candlesticks..." The New Zealander paused for a moment. "Where are the others?" 

"Probably checking in with their Captain. No, I'm fine. Frannie will be coming down here _all_ too soon." *At least now she has a license.* "See you this evening." *Polishing... That explains a lot.* Vecchio worked through his stack of files.

* * *

"Diefenbaken, this has been explained. The Consulate is not a hunting ground. You'll remain in my office. That is final." With a last look, he exited, closing the door carefully. Now he had to go pick up a replacement eclair. And some crullers. In fact, he'd simply purchase the entire order again, excepting of course his own doughnut, which he would have given to Dief if he'd only asked, and the bearclaw that Turnbull had grabbed for himself. 

Interestingly, his path to the bakery was clear of the usual Chicago problems. Even the near accident between two cars was handled civilly. A man Ray would refer to as a habitual purse snatcher saw a woman drop her pocketbook, and returned it. Thus Fraser made very good time to and from the shop, returning quickly to his inventory duties in the linen pantry.

* * *

"What do we have on Hans Bauer?" Ellison was digging through the post-mortem report, looking for anything. 

"Nothing." Ray looked out into space. "That earring worries me." 

"Hum?" Jim kept flipping through the file. 

"Without it, this would be a nice, simple drug hit. You'll see that in the report." There was residue caught in the hair on his arms. "The toxiology shows he wasn't feeding a habit. Not that kind." 

"But the earring?" 

"Trust me. Chicago is weird, but five-thousand year old artifacts don't pave her alleys. Now, it could be simple, and he got into his boss' collection." 

"But...?" 

"This is Chicago." And this was Vecchio's life. 

"Man, you won't believe it!" Blair looked like he had just run a race. "Have you seen the stuff they are unpacking?" 

"Why don't you tell us about it?" Though he did his best to tamp it down, Blair's enthusiasm elicted a sympathetic smile. Most apparent in his eyes. 

Sandburg proceeded to do exactly that, burbling happily about the silver and pewterwork, exclaiming the merits of the porcelain. 

"What case is that?" Jim slipped the question to Ray. 

"One of the other departments'. May be perfectly legit, but the art dealer called. Thinks it might be stolen." Why, he didn't know. Most likely, it was a guilty conscience. "Probably paid too little for it, or he's worried he doesn't have the right papers for something else." 

Jim whispered to Sandburg. "Think he's more cynical." The academic snort-swallowed. 

"Pragmatic. Come on, these files won't do themselves."

* * *

Several more nights were lost to stake-outs, though Fraser found himself on duty a few at the Consulate, leaving Elaine to handle her list alone. The days saw the continuation of final exams, police work, and consular offices. 

"What is it?" Tracy regarded Ellison's stance, before he headed for the door, running. The professor followed. 

In the alley, he was able to spot the source of flesh pummeling flesh. Before he got there, a bottle he hadn't seen skittered loudly, announcing his presence. Even with his sentinel senses, he wasn't able to really get a good look before the assailants fled. Just that they were big, and fashionably attired. 

"You okay there?" Tracy called out, standing beside the detective. 

"Yeah. Thanks." Holding on to the wall, he staggered back into the light. Of average height, he looked like someone used to physical work, like a cigarrette ad but more real. Other than the scrapes and tender spots already starting to bruise. "Aren't you cold?" The peaking nipples on the brushcut were really answer enough. He looked the two men over carefully, liking what he saw. Breathing in, he clutched his ribs. "Some other night. See you around." With that he limped away. 

Jim squeezed his hands a few times as the victim walked away into the night. Nothing for it, he started back to the scene, such as it was, to look for clues. Focused, he didn't notice Tracy retreat for their coats until he pushed one at him. 

Tracy waited until Ellison looked up. "Anything? Another earring perhaps?" 

"Nothing." No shred of fabric, no tell-tale strands of hair. He scanned the alley again. *There.* Before he could dig for the evidence bags he realized were in _his_ coat, he was handed one and a pair of tweezers. He looked back at the professor. 

"You should see my regular coat." 

Jim picked up the nearly mint matchbook. He gently placed it in the bag, and the bag into the inside coat pocket. 

"The tweezers." Tracy received them in outstretched, biker-gloved hand. "Pick another bar, unless you want to call it a night."

* * *

Blair was enjoying himself, as terrible as that sounded. Not that he wouldn't have preferred being with Jim, and not on a stake-out, but for real. Right now, it was enough to be here, to play pretend in a way slightly more real than the facade that he daily portrayed. 

Ray for his part had loosened up, and was laughing at his more outrageous moments. If only he could get Jim comfortable enough. Would their friends really react badly? It wasn't even like they were official partners; he was a consultant. Like technical support, he could be involved with whom he wanted. 

It really depended on Simon. Banks was the one that tap-danced around the department consultant riding with one of the detectives. *By loaning me ocassionally to other departments.* Making it look more like Jim handled the majority of cases that Sandburg happened to have special insight on. Which was true enough; Jim _did_ get assigned to the University cases. 

"I can smell the Castrol from here." 

Blair looked at the detective, a bit confused. 

"Do you ever stop thinking?" Ray had gotten better at dealing with the clubs, pulling out his least embarrassing moves from the late '70s. He laughed at the long haired head-shake. "How do you two work?" 

*Huh?* 

"Just you'd seem to be oil and water. But it works." 

"Must be that I'm mostly vinegar."

* * *

"Ray, how's your assignment going?" Elaine smiled at him sweetly. 

"Peachy. Sandburg's a great dancer." Ray gathered up the last of his files and adjusted his tie. "Court date, ya know. Gotta look good for the D.A." 

Elaine stared as the Italian detective sauntered out of the Bullpen. Then she smiled and got to work. Joking aside, files were still a major part of her job. It was an attempt to create a fitter, smarter, police force. She was trained for and took calls. Mostly, Violent Crimes kept her busy with cases like Huey's synagogue case. And it was working to keep the active cases per detective to a managable level. Which improved the arrest rates, and also the rate of conviction. Nothing like confusing two similar, but unrelated cases for losing the jury. 

Cases like this were a matter of piecing together forensic evidence with witness accounts. She was looking over the report, when the footsteps approached her desk. Elaine looked up. "Professor." 

"Finally someone glad to see me." 

The big smile let her know Tracy was at least half joking. 

"You're not careful they'll pin you with a badge." Elaine smiled. "Even without papers." 

Tracy brought a finger up to pursed lips. "He doesn't know." 

Elaine laughed. "What do you think is going on with this case?" 

Tracy found a place to sit on the corner of the desk. "I don't know. I'm almost thinking there are two group of attackers. The one set are standard targets. Halstead..." Tracy looked around and leaned in closer. "Seems like 'takes one to know one'." 

Elaine looked a little shocked. 

"I could be wrong. But bashers are usually pretty sorry excuses looking to prove themselves easily. And beyond the absence of heterosexually available women, Halstead provides a stereotypical masculinity discourse. The essential men's club. Not what punks would lash out at." 

Elaine thought about it for a moment. "That makes sense. In a sick and disturbed way. So how would you describe the Halstead profile?" 

"Probably members of a homosocial group --sportsclub, fraternity, military. Either they habituate that area, or they have done some research." 

"But that would mean..." 

"Yes. Anyway, it's a possibility. Either way, these are insecure individuals, traveling in a pack or packs. Just a matter of what they're insecure about. Speaking of which, how's that synagogue case going?" 

"Don't ask. You two ran into them?" 

"Scared them off. So, what have you thought about your part?" 

"We'll talk."

* * *

"What is it?" Ray could just about forget this was a gay bar. There was plenty of guy-gal dancing, and even some of the groups of women dancing together were scoping out the guys. That some of them were watching guys dirty dancing spoiled the illusion however. 

"Look at them." Blair tipped his head toward a group of military men at the bar. They weren't American, or at least the uniforms weren't. 

"What?" There were a lot of strange fashion choices in this club. He figured it went with the mishmash decor. 

"Those are Nazi uniforms." They were missing the armbands and collar swastikas, as were the hats missing their blazons. The cut was extremely reminiscent regardless. 

"You sure?" Ray looked at them more closely. "They just look retro to me." Ray thought about another bar, several years ago. "Maybe they just like the look." 

Blair flashed a burning glare toward Ray, before turning away. It was all too possible. Homoeroticism in Nazi Cinema was a lecture he'd attended as an undergrad. "It's just in poor taste." 

"At least they didn't go for the full thing." He looked at them more closely. Ray judged them in their mid-twenties. Possibly oblivious to the full significance of their clothing choice. Tall, well-built, blond. Something... "They look like Hans." 

"Ja, or Fritz, Wilhelm..." 

"Our body, Hans Bauer." 

Blair looked at Ray funny. "What do a cluster of Nazi Kens have in common with a dead Argentine druglord? Bitplayer..." 

"Nothing." This was Chicago. "But I plan to find out."

* * *

Jim looked at the man walking away from the table and back to Tracy. The bar was packed and dark, melancholy songs playing while men danced, drank and made out. The bartender had a little more light, a warm glow behind the bar quickly swallowed by the surrounding gloom. 

"Guess he figures since we're not snogging I'm available." Tracy chuckled. "How does girls' night out feel?" 

"You're enjoying this?" He said it like a statement. 

"People buying me drinks?" Tracy dropped the latest chip onto the small pile. "You'd think that stack would ward them off. Guess they like a challenge. It's better than women throwing themselves at me. That's not the question you're asking." 

Jim shook his head as he took a drink from his near-beer. "This." 

"Maybe it's time to start talking to your friends." Tracy watched as the detective looked up. "You've got something most of these guys don't have. Hell, that a lot of people don't have." 

"I know." He stared into his mug. Jim looked up, locking eyes with the professor. "How'd you?" 

Tracy smiled enigmatically. "Why haven't you?" Picking up the pile of plastic the anthropologist headed for the small gaming area. With its own pool of light.

* * *

As Ray headed over, the Nazi-clones left the bar and headed outside. As Vecchio tried to follow, a particularly thick surge of dancers hindered his passage. Coming out the other side dancing, he pushed through the door. 

The knot of uniformed men surrounded a shorter suited man with carefully coiffed hair. The compliments quickly shifted into threats. 

"Hey, go pick on someone your own I.Q." 

When they didn't even respond to the taunt, Ray rolled his shoulders as he dove into the fray. 

Blair popped through the door. Seeing Ray being held he picked up a trash can lid and slammed it down on the nearest guy with turned back. His feet lashed out at knees, and elbows into ribs.

* * *

Fraser was walking when he heard the screech of car tires making a turn too fast. Unfortunately an all too common of sound in Chicago. A few moments later he saw the car in question, a non-descript sedan. As it passed he noticed a smattering of mud around the trunk lip. He started running as he thought about the pattern. 

Logically, he should call in the license plate. And if there was a phone at hand he might do so. As it was, his instincts told him to maintain eye contact and attempt to close. Barring the exception to prove the rule, transport by trunk was as Ray would put it, a one way trip. 

One might think it impossible to catch a car on foot. Which on the open highway would be true enough. However, since the driver confronted by such pursuit generally thinks nothing of it, and still has the majority of traffic regulations to deal with, the runner had several advantages. 

Fraser clambered over the chainlink fence and climbed up the ladder hammered into the building at the far end. At the top he looked over the city, quickly picking out the car. Stepping back across the roof, he crouched down and ran. Leaping to the other roof. 

By a series of zig-zig runs across roofs, Fraser found himself ahead of the car. Judging the wind, he leaped. Making a load thud as he landing on the car roof. 

The driver had to wrench the steering wheel hard. "Was zum Teufel war das?" He turned to the man in the passenger seat. "Sitz nicht einfach nur so da! Schau dir das an!!!" 

Following instructions, he lowered the window a few inches so he could look up and out. "Das ist einer von der Palastwache." He punched the button to close the window quickly. 

"Bloed. Das ist so ein daemlicher Tuersteher. Wir sind in Amerika." He took several corners hard and made rapid lane changes. 

The man behind the driver pushed the button for his widow and looked for himself. "Stiefel. Das ist ein Mountie." 

"Egal ob Tuersteher oder Mountie, der wird bald 'Road Pizza' sein." Down by the dockside warehouses, he could really drive all out. Eventually, Fraser did lose his grip, flipping back first onto the hood before rolling off. 

Fraser looked up from the ground dazed as the four men got out. He could swear they were wearing Nazi uniforms, with the insignia missing. 

"Aber, aber, das war nicht sehr nett, einfach so unangekuendigt reinzuplatzen. Fritz." He nodded at the man standing closest to Fraser. 

Fritz smartly pulled back a booted foot and kicked Fraser in the side of the head, knocking him out cold. "Soll ich ihn in den See schmeissen?" 

"Nein, bring ihn her." While Fritz hefted the Mountie over his shoulder, the driver went to the trunk and unlocked it. Lifting it, he let the other two pull the men out.

* * *

Half the night gone, Jim called it quits when the cigarette smoke and bad sound system did him in. Tracy had plopped down half the stack of accumulated chips to cover drinks for the dart guys, before leaving. Jim just shrugged as they headed back for the car. 

They hadn't been driving for long when Tracy turned to Ellison. "Pull over at that phone up ahead. Beeper." Tracy held up the vibrating device. 

Jim popped a standard U-turn to let Tracy phone in. 

"Elaine, what is it?" 

"Remember that piece of evidence you brought in?" 

"The matchbook? Sure," 

"Hans had one too. The dead guy found by the earring." 

"Well, that's interesting, but--" 

Elaine cut in. "You better come down to the station. We've got a little situation brewing with that load of art. Nobody can make any sense of it." 

Tracy could hear shouting through the phone before the receiver met the cradle. Tracy looked up at one of the more reliable clocks that were dotted around the facades of Chicago's old retail and business district. "Anthropologist on night call." Tracy got back into the car. 

"Something the matter at the Station? Think it's just coincidence?" 

Tracy looked over at the detective. 

"The matchbooks?" 

"It's an interesting twist. Maybe Hans was learning a different 'lesson' than you thought." *How did he hear that?* 

Whatever Tracy was expecting at the Station, this was not it. The eclectic mob outside of the Precinct looked to be an amalgam of extras from The Chosen and the Brie set. They were doing their best to ignore each other, which wasn't working well as some were smokers and others weren't. Tracy got ready to get out of the car. 

"Shit!" 

"Kind of sums it up." 

"I meant what I'm wearing. Pull around back." 

Tracy jumped out of the car, and pulled on one of the doors by loading. 

Elaine was at the end of her patience. She had been unable to contact Lt. Welsh and Huey had walked off in a huff to cool down. The booking sergeant had managed to push the majority outside to wait. The more volatile were of course the ones still inside. She smiled as she saw the white-coated firgure come down the hall. "Doctor MacKinacmakan, I'm so glad I was able to reach you. 

"Don't worry about it, dear. What seems to be the issue?" 

"This police department is in possession of our property." 

"Your property. Pshaw." The patriarch looked at the first man dismissively. "Just who are you?" He looked Tracy over, noting with distaste the blue jeans. 

"Someone that would rather be home with my daughter. Would someone, please, tell me what is going on?" 

"It's our understanding," started a short woman in a linen blazer and tasteful gold necklace and matching earrings, "that a collection of... That certain items have been brought in." 

"Officer Besbriss, could you please get these people stolen property paperwork?" Tracy looked at the stare Elaine was flashing. "Now, nothing can be done this night. There are proper channels of course. However, I will go and check into this matter. _Please_. You can understand that this is an extraordinary matter, one for which the Chicago police department has not completely prepared." With that, Tracy strode back down the hall. 

For a moment, quiet reigned. Then the cacophony resumed. 

As Tracy went back to the door, there was the sound of clapping. Ellison pushed off from the newel he was leaning against. Tracy bowed, before reclaiming the suede coat from the broom closet and replacing the white one on the hook. "Take me home, James."

* * *

"What did you do to him?" Ray nearly pulled his chair over, oblivious that he was tied to it. Fraser had a bruise blooming over the side of his face, as well as several cuts and scrapes. 

"I think you should be more concerned about yourself, Detective Vecchio. Though fraternity is touching from one of the lesser races." 

Ray stared at the man. He wasn't one of the twenty-somethings from the club. Unlike them, he was in a suit, or it would be a suit if he had the jacket on. 

"Bring mir einen Kamm.." "Now, my question is why this Mountie was on the top of my Untergebener auto?" 

"That's what they do. It's very boring in Canada." 

"Nice try. Surely the frauleins get cold." 

Ray snorted. 

One of the men returned with a heavy silver comb. The older man took it and stepped behind Blair, who was still unconscious. 

Ray looked horrified as the commandant started combing. "Wake up, Sandbur..." Too late he realized he should have said Blair. 

"Jim, stop that. Trying to sleep here." All of a sudden, he stiffened in his chair. He took in Ray, with his split lip, and Ben who really didn't look good. Both were tied to chairs, much as he was, he realized. 

"Dornroeschen wird wach." He leaned down close to the full mouth, and then looked over to Ray. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt him any more than necessary." Blair spit right at him. The commandant stood up straight and wiped under his eye. "See. Plenty of Aryan blood." He started combing again, Blair struggling. His head was pulled back hard by the hair. "Don't squirm so." 

"Or what, you'll rip my hair out?" 

"No. I'll let them scalp the Constable." He laughed as he let the hair slide over his hand. "War nur'n Witz." He smiled coldly and felt the trembles as he ran the silver comb through the thick curls. 

"You're insane!" 

"Ray, how about you _don't_ taunt him for another moment or two?" 

"I know I've told you your hair is like a pelt, but he's threating to let them scalp you." 

"It's called intimidation tactics." Fraser turned toward Blair and then up. "Just why _did_ you capture them?" 

"The goon squad didn't like our Blackwell impersonation."

* * *

"Do you really think it's Nazi booty?" Jim looked over at the professor. He looked beat. 

"It might explain the earring. I don't know. Welsh is going to have a fit." 

"I think you might be surprised." Tracy's 'performance' really had been pretty impressive. That he had no authority was really beside the point. The saner heads had actually listened. The rest would just wake up with very sore necks from sleeping sitting on benches. 

"Stop the car." Tracy bolted from the car and heeding traffic dashed into the street. Stooping, Tracy then ran back and got in. 

Jim just looked at the anthropologist. 

Tracy held out a mangled button. "That's one of Fraser's." 

Jim looked at it skeptically. It looked like it had been run over, at least a few times. "Saying it is, which I doubt, so what? It fell off." 

"He would have noticed. And, if need be, backtracked until he found it." 

Jim thought about it. *If Tracy thinks that...* "Then how did it get there?" 

"Probably jumped a car." 

*What?* Okay, so he'd done that a few times. "Wouldn't somebody report that?" 

"This is Chicago. Besides, he does it almost every month." 

Ellison looked at the other man. If it was hyperbole, it was close enough to the truth. He peered out the window. "Think you'll know if we start going the wrong way?" 

Tracy looked at the detective, and then towards the road.

* * *

Fraser could feel vibrations through the concrete slab. "You're moving operations?" 

"Very good. Give him a gold star." The commandant laughed. "I'm afraid that once they find the detective dead, Chicago will be a little 'hot'. Not to mention somebody, Jim? will be looking for this one." He pulled his hand away before Blair could bite the trailing finger. "The only question is what to do with you. On the one hand I could have you killed. I'd rather not do that. Alternatively, I could ship you to some of our scientists. He'd be a good test for their brainwashing techniques, right, Liebchen?" 

Sandburg kicked his chair backwards, almost catching the commandant by surprise. Almost. Very quickly a hypospray was pressed against his neck and Blair was out. 

"I didn't want to have to do that." He stroked the hair before looking again at the Constable. "Now, what _am_ I going to do with you?"

* * *

Tracy jumped out of the car and looked at the thick tire prints. "Where do they _go_?" 

Jim opened his hearing. After a moment he started running. Followed by Tracy. He could hear a man speaking. Jim scrambled up the side of a low shed to get on top of the warehouse. 

"Yeah, and roll the film for Jesse Owens!" There was a loud smack-sound and Ray didn't say any more. 

Tracy sidled up next to Jim. "What's going on?" 

Jim put a hand over his ear. "Seems to be a fight inside." He looked over at the anthropologist. "Go and call for back up." With that he had a window open and jumped inside. 

"Sure, hand me the keys." Saying that to the empty air, Tracy walked down the roof and found a hatch. Opening it, the professor took the ladder down. 

Jim stood up, and looked around. Walking further in, he started to smell smoke. What was it with bad guys and fires? "Tracy!" He could see the other man put a finger to his lips, before making a twisting motion with the right. Jim shrugged in reply before jogging down the corridor. 

"They've lit it." As they ran further inside they reached flames and fallen timbers. 

"Ray!" Tracy then spotted the red cuff from under a jumble of debris. "Help me pull him free." 

They got him out, as Jim heard yet farther in, "Let go of me, you antiquated pseudoscience bigot!" "Kannst du das nicht besser, Hitzkopf?" 

"They've got Sandburg." He made to run, but Tracy body blocked him. He struggled to get past. 

"I can't get both of them out!" Tracy looked at how the flames had rushed past them. "You take them and I'll get Sandburg." 

"Are you crazy!" Jim had to presume these people were armed with more than just hate. 

"Where in there do you think he is?" 

Jim concentrated. "Too bad, mein Huebscher. Let this be your Ofen." Jim surged forward, and Tracy pushed back. 

"Get these two to safety!" Then, anthropologist was running, red mane billowing. 

Squaring his shoulders, Jim pulled Fraser into a fireman's carry and grabbed Ray around the waist. Then he got moving. 

Tracy was coughing, breathing against the suede sleeve, batting away burning flak. 

Blair beat on the the heavy wood door, kicking at the wisps of shaved wood before adding his feet to his arms. Sawdust would at least explode! This was going to be Joan of Arc time. 

The door pulled away and he sprawled forward, catching himself before falling. "Professor!" 

"Didn't tell you about my correspondance course?" Tracy looked around at the vacated loading bay. Fire was blocking the way the Kiwi had come, and the switch for the door to the outside was well out of reach beyond more flames. Tracy looked at the forklift and remaining crate. "Can you drive one of those?" 

"Worked at a welding plant." 

"Close enough." They ran over to it, Tracy hanging off the far side, letting Blair take the seat. "Pick up that crate, give us more inertia to punch through." 

Jerkily, Blair got the forklift going and moving, finally picking up the crate. He looked as Tracy jumped off and pulled on a skid. 

"Thought I'd at least try to cushion it. Hope whoever packed it knew what they were doing." Tracy got the pallet propped up, and swung back up. "Gun it. Why'd they leave it?" 

"Wouldn't fit on the truck." With those words there was the sound of ripping metal and splintering wood. 

Semi-conscious, Fraser's eyes went wide as the forklift came to a halt after bursting through the wall, backlit by the fire raging inside. Trucks pulled in, disgorging firemen in full masks that ran into the building dragging hoses. Tracy swung down, knocking away the crushed pallet and coat-beating the embers on the crate. 

"You never believe me on how it looks." Ray nonchalantly dabbed at his various wounds. 

Jim ran over as soon as the forklift stopped, pulling Blair down and holding him tight. As Sandburg started coughing, he let him get some air, an arm still draped over him. 

"Man, you smell like smoke." Blair chuckled and hacked as they walked out of the way to the sound of more sirens, as squads pulled in. 

Tracy finally joined the others, coat over one shoulder, after grabbing someone to move the crate to a safer location and guard it. Slipping next to Fraser, Tracy looked him over, inspecting wounds and checking his eyes. 

"Anybody else hungry?" 

Ray shrugged, Fraser brushed down his coat and noticed the absence of his hat, Jim scratched the back of his head. Blair looked at the sooty ensemble. "Sure." The rest pitched in their assent as they started for the car. 

"I drive." Tracy made catcher's mit at Jim and got the keys. "You lost a button." 

Fraser looked down, finally noticing the hanging thread. He caught the flashing piece of metal, face dropping as he felt the scratches and dents.

* * *

Welsh looked at the newspaper. In print, it looked so reasonable. Fugitive 'Nazis'. Newly recovered art treasures, previously thought destroyed. Even the tentative links to a drug cartel operation. The report that Vecchio had turned in was anything but reasonable. The full truth was too strange. The phone rang, shaking him out of his introspection. "27th Precinct, Lieutenant Welsh." He nodded as he listened. "I'll tell them." 

"Ellison, Sandburg. That was your Captain Banks. They've unburied the airport. You've got a flight morning after next." Message relayed, he closed his office door. 

"Christmas day?" Sandburg looked hurt. 

Tracy came into the Bullpen, carrying Regina. "Why so glum?" 

Jim answered. "Afraid Santa won't find him. We're out of here Christmas." 

"No flights today?" Tracy shrugged in time with the words. "How about you join us tomorrow?" 

"We couldn't." Jim was stopped by Blair. 

"You sure?" 

"Come by after two." Tracy turned to Ray. "You finish with those?" 

"Um, yeah. Ray dug the thin softbound books out of his drawer. "They were very informative." 

The professor quirked an eyebrow. Looking at Jim, "Could you hold her for a sec?" 

Jim received Regina. Blair behind him smiled as the big man shifted the baby slightly. 

Tracy put the books in the soft-sider. "Guess I know who's sitting while I deal with the rack of lamb. Bring your appetites." With that the Kiwi lifted Regina and left. 

Blair looked at Jim expectantly. He just laughed as the detective turned in his patented stance. 

"Come on, Chief." 

Ray watched the two go, and then shrugged turning back to his paperwork. He was not getting caught coming into the office Chrismas Eve for anything. 

A man and a woman walked into the Bullpen. The red-head was much shorter, though keeping up with the more loping gait of her partner. 

"Detective Vecchio? We're from the FBI," he flipped open his identification. "We're here regarding the Welters case." 

The End. Return to Archive 


End file.
